


Maybe Peeling Faces Off is Better... Together?

by teethteethteeth



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: (also every third word is fuck), Canon-Typical Violence, First Meetings, M/M, No Smut, One Shot, POV Victor, not even any kissing because im a slow burn asshole and this is a one shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24659689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teethteethteeth/pseuds/teethteethteeth
Summary: When Victor met Roman (Zsasz POV)
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Maybe Peeling Faces Off is Better... Together?

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Может быть, срезать лица лучше... вместе?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24676909) by [MiceLoveCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiceLoveCat/pseuds/MiceLoveCat)



> Thank you to MiceLoveCat for the Russian translation!
> 
> 1) Both of these characters are terribly sexist and horrible in the movie. I am Not condoning those actions. I just love their dynamic. Who doesn't love fictional sadistic killers (esp when one is a spoiled power bottom)?  
> 2) I haven't written fanfic in literally years so please don't be too harsh on me aaaa.

I don’t kill for money.

My bosses would be shocked if they knew. I’ve always come knocking for the paycheck. The rare times when somebody has tried to skip out on the bill, well, I’ve gotten involved. A man needs to live, after all. A place to sleep and shit to fill it with? Some food every once in a while? In a place like Gotham, even in the fucking filthiest neighborhoods, the ones where there’s more lice than people, even those are fucking expensive. But that’s not the point. I could do other things for the money. I could be a waiter, or a busboy, or hell, even bribe some of my past clients (the ones that are still clinging to life, that is). But that’s not the fucking point. It hasn’t been the point for years.

People don’t generally ask why the fuck you murder people for a living. They ask for how much it’ll cost (frame it as an “estimate” if they’re rich fucking assholes), how long it’ll take, how likely it is that the police will trace it back to them (in a city like Gotham? not fucking likely). They don’t exactly ask for your motivation. I don’t really mind though. Not much of a talker anyways, especially with people who don’t have the guts to do their dirty work themselves.

Roman Sionis, however. There’s a fucker who never fucking shuts up. 

It was a Friday afternoon and while generally, I would be on my couch in my boxers, watching whichever channels I could convince to show my TV to show me, I was instead making an appearance at this fucker’s fucking club, just so he could give me intel on a job. It’s like he’d never heard of a burner phone before.

It was too early for anybody to be there other than him and a few staff. One opened the door for me because I guess Sionis isn’t one to open doors for his guests himself. Rich fucker. I’ve gotta admit though, the place was great. Not too big. Huge hands with eyes statue thing on one end. Plenty of dark corners. As long as the music was all right, I could get the appeal.

Sionis was sitting in one of the booths. He smiled as I walked towards him, like he could tell what I was thinking. 

“Mr. Zsasz! Now, what the fuck, might I ask, are you fucking wearing?”

I looked down. Shoes. Pants. Striped shirt.

“Shirt.”

The motherfucker actually laughed. He relished in it, head thrown back. I liked his neck. I could imagine myself slicing into it. Sooner or later, somebody was going to pay me to do it. Sionis was just powerful enough, and just not-rich-enough, for someone not to take him out one of these days. Looking at his exposed neck, I could just about visualize it. His head snapped back up before I could get to the juicy bit though.

“Sit down, Mr. Zsasz. We’ve got a lot to talk about, you and me.”

I shrugged and did. Even from the other side of the table, I could smell the cologne he had dowsed himself in. Or it might have been Purell. There was something... disinfectant about it. Whatever it was, it was probably expensive. His fucking transparent silk shirt definitely was.

“Whiskey?”

I nodded. It was a bit early, but that had never bothered me before.

He snapped his fingers at one of the staff and turned back to me.

“My kind of man. So, Mr. Zsasz. What do you think of my place?”

I shrugged. “It's nice.”

“That it is, my loquacious guest. All the best money can buy. So, tell me. What exactly do you like about it?”

“The… eyes, I guess? With the hands? But… Mr Sionis, I'm here for –”

Sionis waved a hand in my face and rolled his eyes. He looked disappointed. Maybe a little disgusted. I felt a pressure under my seventh rib. Bad lunch?

“We’ll have time enough for that, but first –”

The staff member came back. He silently placed both drinks in front of Sionis before being waved off.

Sionis turned back to me and smiled. Definitely a bad lunch. Dealing with the owner as soon as I got out of there. “First, I want to get to know you. So, Mr. Zsasz. How exactly did you come to be in this line of business?” 

He slid the drink across the table. He moved so fluidly. Not like a dancer, but like he’d practiced in front of a mirror. I snatched the drink off the table. Anything for a second to think. What was playing at? I just needed a name, a location if he had one, and I’d go get it done. This… I wasn’t sure about this. 

He didn’t take his eyes off me as a I chugged the drink, and his smile not only stayed, it widened until I could see his teeth. 

“You’re not supposed to chug whiskey.”

I coughed. “Can if you’re not a pussy.”

That got another laugh out of him. Smaller than the last one. He seemed more interested in listening than being observed this time. 

“I don’t like to be kept waiting, Mr. Zsasz.” His voice was quieter than before, but not by much. I wasn’t that worried. I had a knife strapped to my back, and I’d killed with my bare hands before anyways. But still. I could feel my heart start to speed up. There was something... off about Roman Sionis. Something familiar. But I couldn't fucking place it. 

“You’re the one that gave me a drink.” That seemed to be the right answer. He relaxed a bit. He was easy to read. Fucking flighty, but an open book. Just one with pages in front of a fucking fan or something.

“You’ve got me there. But please, do go on. And please, don’t spare any of the details.”

The way he said that felt like a threat. I’d lose the job, I guess, or maybe he thought he’d make me the next one. I shrugged, but decided to humor him. Eyes glued to the table, I answered. “Hard to explain. Like it, you know? Have since I was a kid. It’s… ”

“Yes?”

I looked up and met his eyes. He was leaning forwards toward me, so close that I could feel his hot breath on my chin. Even his hands, holding onto the edge of the table, were slowly making their way on the brim, closer to me, one creeping movement at the time. But his eyes... it was his eyes that made my brain stop in its tracks. I couldn't focus and look at him at the same time, so I lost my train of thought.

“It’s hard to explain," I said, looking away from him.

God, even without looking at him, I could feel him sinking back into himself. I could feel it like it had been my own fucking self that I'd disappointed. I looked back at him and sure enough, he was slouched back into the plush cushions of the booth, eyes away from me. He'd even pulled his hands back towards him.

Fuck. 

"But, boss... I can show you."

It was like night and day on his face. The way his eyes looked when he looked back at me, the way he smiled? Fuck. The way his hands reached towards me and pushed me out of the booth in their eagerness for both of us to get out of there? I knew I'd made the right choice. He'd get why I did it. Why I'd done it over, and over, and over, and why I was going to keep doing it until it killed me. How it felt... He'd understand it all, because he was like me...

...  
Fuck, he was like me.

What the fuck was I getting myself into?


End file.
